


SHADOW PUPPETRY

by unsungillumination



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Character Study, M/M, Zine piece, p5 writers zine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 05:21:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19882309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsungillumination/pseuds/unsungillumination
Summary: a day in the life of a thief... but he'snota thief, not really, and nor is the life in question his own to begin with.akechi goro comes to terms with unbelonging again and again, but each time he thinks he’s come to accept the part he's given to play, amamiya ren sparks in him a pointless hope that topples the whole thing to the ground.





	SHADOW PUPPETRY

**Author's Note:**

> i was given the VERY great honour of representing Akeshu Rights in _take your time - a p5 writers zine_ (on twitter [@p5writerszine](https://twitter.com/p5writerszine)), a right and a privilege which i snatched into my goblin hands and ran off with into the night.
> 
> i poured my heart and soul into this fic and this project - i am so, so proud to have been part of it and prouder still to be able to share it with you now. i hope you enjoy. <3

The morning comes, and Goro Akechi awakens to another day that isn’t his.

The alarm is going at his bedside; low, from one too many flinches violent enough to send him to the floor. The dappled bruises along his elbow are a less welcome awakening jolt than caffeine and the vibrate cuts well enough into his dreams: they are not so restful, after all, that a frenetic buzzing would be out of place.

It’s ten minutes sooner than he needs to be up; ten minutes he takes for himself, pretending the theft is a freedom afforded to him. He needs the time to be human, to blink awake—and to promptly close his eyes again for a seconds-long Denial Nap to last him the day. A buffer against the current that will sweep him on his way when the time is up.

He didn’t rest well. He never rests well.

The clock slices itself in half and Goro is pulled into motion, drawing the curtains to the light in his eyes.

It’s a force beyond him that walks him to the clothing he’d laid out the night before—granting himself the precious seconds of sleep he’ll ache for come dawn. His own fault. He’s up until obscene hours of the morning sometimes, when he means to be and when he doesn’t. _Working, haha_ , he’ll say with a charming, sheepish laugh, the times he can’t quite stifle the yawn. Sometimes he does it on purpose just to press home the point of exactly how _diligent_ he is, how _dedicated_ — _and you know how it is_ , he’ll say with that knowing smile, that amused roll of his eyes, and they’ll all laugh together at how very _droll_ it all is, _ha ha ha_ , and he’ll try not to throw up.

Sometimes he is working. More often he’s alone with his thoughts, memorising the spotless ceiling.

He watches his hand moving in the mirror, carefully patting on the powdered foundation of his face before he paints over it with practiced perfection. Concealer over the spots he certainly doesn’t get (oh, it’s a simple matter of taking care of yourself, you know, good skin is all about _positive thinking_ ), over the dark circles he never has. And how impressive it is, Akechi-kun, that you work so hard and yet you’re never tired? Well, you know what they say—do what you love, and you’ll never work a day in your life, haha—

He misses his cup with the kettle, absent-minded and sleepy, and doesn’t notice until hot water drips onto his foot and makes him yelp. It’s the most human he’s felt all morning.

The strings must have been tangled, the bars uncalibrated. He presses a cool, damp tissue to the burn and leaves it at that.

It’s routine, climbing on his bike and taking to the streets. How dreary, the grind of daily life, how frightfully _comfortable_ , and yet there’s something so incomprehensibly _wrong_ about it all that it would threaten to steal his breath **—** if that were his to begin with. Something so paralysing about the way his legs move on their own, cycling carefree down the stream of traffic and he couldn’t stop if he wanted, couldn’t throw himself into its path if he so desired. Something fundamental and disquieting about this life; so controlled, but so out of his own. Strung along and made to dance, be it by revenge’s hand or by the gods’, in a game he wants badly to win but can’t be sure he’s even playing.

He doesn’t know who’s playing.

One piece, at once crucial and inconsequential on a board he can’t comprehend as anything smaller than his own world. Maybe he’ll reach the end and claim the crown. But even that wouldn’t be a victory of his own, wouldn’t be a triumph in own right, only one tactical manoeuvre in someone else’s game. And in the face of a greater good or a better man, there’s every chance of sacrifice before then.

His phone chimes as he locks his bike.

 **Joker:** Are you free today?

 **Joker:** I’m working today at Leblanc if you’d like to come by.

_Should I reply now…?_

 **Crow:** I’m rather tied up today, unfortunately.

 **Crow:** Is something the matter? If you need my help, I’m sure I can make time for you, Amamiya-kun.

(It’s tactical. Amamiya is the leader of the Phantom Thieves and a months-long investment. It wouldn’t do to make him feel shunted. Yes—it’s in Goro’s best interests to ensure Amamiya feels… special.)

 **Joker:** No, just wanted to see you.

 **Joker:** This is your first infiltration. I know you’re busy with other things, too.

 **Joker:** I wanted to make sure you’re not too stressed.

 **Crow:** It’s very kind of you to worry, but I assure you, it’s nothing I can’t handle.

 **Joker:** I know.

 **Joker:** Offer stands. Let me know if you like.

 **Crow:** Thank you, Amamiya-kun. I’ll keep you in mind, as always.

(Tactical, practical. There’s use in keeping Amamiya near.)

Near, not close. It’s a practiced distance Goro keeps with ease; to the cosiest of colleagues and the frilliest of fans, to the likes of Amamiya Ren and his steady gaze, to his gentle voice, to the words that give Goro pause when he’s never had the privilege of hitting play.

...And besides, he really is busy today.

* * *

He takes a selfie with the girl beside him in line at Yon-Germain.

(Pastries aren’t part of work. But even detectives need an indulgence every now and then, hm?)

(He’s so tired.)

“It’s really so wonderful to meet you, Akechi-kun,” she gushes. She’s bursting with excitement to be in line with him. What an honour! She admires him so. He’s so talented. So genuine! He wants to laugh. He wants to scream.

He works so meticulously to craft this image. He detests it.

“I come here all the time,” she squeaks. “Secretly, I’m always hoping to run into you, Akechi-kun!”

Her eyes are sparkling. He bestows upon her his shyest, most glowing smile. “I’m honoured,” he says. “I hope you haven’t spent too much of your money waiting for me. I’m truly flattered you think I’m worth it, though.”

“Of course!” she gasps, eyes round. “I’m your biggest fan! Nothing wouldn’t be worth it for you, Akechi-kun!”

He’s worth something to someone! He signs her class folder. It’s as pointless a lie as the humble, embarrassed laugh he gives for her rapture. Of course he’s worth everything. Of course he’s worth nothing.

A contradiction he may be, but that’s no surprise. _He_ is not his to begin with.

He realises with a start that his phone has gone off again.

 **Joker** : We’re thinking of doing a Mementos run this afternoon, if you’re up for it.

 **Joker** : I did tell them you’re busy. They made me ask anyway.

 **Crow:** Aren’t you their leader?

 **Joker** : Tell that to my guys.

 **Crow:** Haha.

“Akechi-san,” calls the vendor, and Goro throws her a charming smile as he accepts his pastry. It’s good. Fluffy. Lots of cream.

It would spell disaster if they went to Mementos today, with or without him.

 **Crow:** Sorry, I still can’t make it.

 **Crow:** Would tomorrow be alright?

 **Joker** : I’ll tell them.

 **Crow:** Thank you, Joker.

 **Crow:** Please give the others my sincerest apologies.

It’s almost funny how the Phantom Thieves don’t even bother to pretend like he’s part of the team. Loath to put in the effort of hiding their distaste, they’re bald with their lack of consideration for him and his engagements, his life, his agenda. It’s ‘us’, and then it’s ‘him’; a surplus, kindly, or a tumour, less so.

Goro doesn’t have the time to kid himself, or even really to feel insulted.

The derision comes free with the rancour. How embarrassing, not to have the skills to fake amity. How enviable not to need them.

 **Joker:** I’m super bored at Leblanc, so you can still stop by tonight if you like.

 **Joker:** Doesn’t matter how late. You could say I kind of have to take work home with me.

 **Crow:** Haha, is the presence of exotic beans not stimulating enough for you?

 **Joker:** What does that even mean…?

 **Joker:** See you later, Akechi.

 **Crow:** Have a good day, Amamiya-kun. :)

Goro sees him standing in his green apron behind the bar at Leblanc. Sees his face, tilted to the phone he holds low in one hand beneath the counter to escape the boss’s notice. And the café folds out around Amamiya Ren in his mind’s eye before he can do anything.

He hates what he sees; hates more that he sees at all.

He hates the little half-smile on Ren’s face as he reads Goro’s words and the way his lips move to form them, other hand tucked in his jeans, calm and casual and cool-as-you-please. Hates the deft fingers that spin the phone on his knuckles, pointlessly, before he tucks it back into his pocket. Mesmerising to watch. A habit he seems to carry with his dagger.

God knows Amamiya could leave blood pouring from his heart as easily with words.

The girl waves a cheerful goodbye to the face he offers her.

Around him, he hears whispers. All approving, all admiring; in the hour of the notorious Phantom Thieves, he stood bravely out against them. A lone voice of justice amidst the chaos. He’s for them, he’s theirs.

They _love_ him.

He raises a modest hand to his face and muses, wry, that no-one would if he pried it away.

* * *

There’s a certain acrimony to the way he operates here, a cynicism he can’t shake, but the fact remains that no-one in this school would be half as kind to him if he didn’t spit success in their faces like a sweet-smelling venom.

It’s students like him, although there’s _no-one_ like him, who give this goddamn place its pristine reputation. They would be nothing without him and his ilk—but when the time comes he’ll twirl and march like the rest of them. For this institution, who could give less than a rat’s ass about him but for the numbers he represents.

It’s not a suspicion. This isn’t the only institution in his memory.

He hands his papers to the office lady, who smiles graciously when she sees his name. The printed characters represent not his identity but his recent triumphs, a string of pretty accolades. He can barely taste the bitterness now; it’s soaked into him, as pointless to try and remove as it might be to try and scrub away his own skin.

There’s plenty to deride about himself but if there’s a point of pride to the strings and bones of his makeup, it’s that Goro Akechi is no fool, and he’s long since learned the dance of quid pro quo. He steps to it with a precision not unlike that demanded of a memorised minefield. Life, in all its aspects and colours, is little more than a series of transactions; it’s only what he can do, what he can give, that keeps him around—to dream otherwise would be folly.

There’s no-one of note who acts without reason. He’s long familiar with setting his heart upon the scale, calculating the weight and worth of each choice before he hands it away for packaging.

His phone is buzzing again; he casts an apologetic glance at the office lady who is currently more absorbed with his papers than with him.

 **Joker:** Do you have time this week?

 **Crow:** Aren’t we going into Mementos tomorrow?

 **Joker:** Not for Mementos.

 **Crow:** You can contact me whenever you’re planning to enter the Palace. I’ll make time at your call.

 **Joker:** Not for the Palace either.

 **Crow:** Do you need my help for something else?

 **Joker:** Not your help.

 **Crow:** You’re being strangely cryptic right now, Joker…

 **Joker:** I was just wondering if you wanted to hang out. You’re the one making it complicated.

 **Crow:** Oh.

 **Joker:** It’s okay if you don’t want to.

 **Joker:** I thought we could go to Dome Town. Do you like rollercoasters?

_Of course! I’ve never been one to turn away from new experiences, haha. Aren’t they exciting? I love the thrill of looming disaster and plummeting to my death in a plastic cart. I have so few regrets in life, after all._

 **Crow:** Well, no, actually, not really.

 **Joker:** Me neither.

 **Joker:** :) They have other stuff.

 **Joker:** You up for it?

 **Crow:** Is this another group bonding exercise?

 **Joker:** Just us.

 **Crow:** Is there something you need to discuss that we can only do at a theme park…? Are we scoping out a target?

 **Joker:** Come on, Akechi. We’re not on the job. I just wanted to get to know you. Thought it would be fun.

 **Joker:** We don’t have to if you don’t want.

 **Crow:** Oh, I see.

 **Crow:** My apologies for the confusion! I’m just busy, haha... It’s hard to think of anything outside of work sometimes.

 **Joker:** Sure, I get it.

 **Crow:** I’m glad you understand.

 **Joker:** Next time?

 **Crow:** Certainly, Joker.

It’s almost sad, the way this boy scrambles after him like a stray cat with its tail high. Pathetic, really. Desperate for Goro to lean down and pat its little black head. Nary a care nor certainly an agenda to speak of in the big wide world.

...Yes, how unspeakably foolish. And he doesn’t like theme parks, and he definitely doesn’t like Ren.

Amamiya.

Joker.

It’s a business relationship. If that. Barely a relationship, really. Joker’s not even really party to it. Just an asset Goro can draw benefit from. Hardly a relevant entity—

“Here,” drones the office lady, and hands him back his papers.

“Ah,” he says. “Thank you. Is that all sorted, then?”

“Yes.”

“Lovely,” he says, casting her a beatific smile. “Well, I’ll be on my way.”

And he departs in a wake of favour, leaving behind him his utility and drawing the rest of him into his briefcase. He tucks Amamiya away in his pocket and wonders unbidden what he’d give him, if he could. If Amamiya wanted.

* * *

Goro steps off the train in Shibuya and wishes he could go home.

His apartment isn’t far, but it’s not particularly enticing, either. Just as well he has to stick around. The train station isn’t the worst place to wander while he waits, something stirring deep in his gut that sits too dull to be dread and burns too sharp to be languor, for his phone to chime.

It does.

 **Joker:** lol. what would u do if we accidentally kissed :*

_…?!_

 **Crow:** Sorry, what?

 **Joker:** Oh

 **Joker:** oh my god

 **Joker:** I’m so sorry. That was for someone else

 **Joker:** Sorry, Akechi. That’s really embarrassing.

 **Crow:** Haha, it’s fine. It happens to the best of us.

_…_

When he looks back up at the world, it’s feels… dreamy. And a little unreal, like he’s stepped into another’s life. For a moment he worries he’s slipped into the Metaverse without realising—but no, that that’s not possible.

His phone feels heavy against his leg; heavier, somehow, than it did before. And perfectly unbidden, cursed to wander, his mind conjures images of what it might be like to kiss Amamiya Ren.

Goro balks at the path his thoughts have taken, yet can’t veer away.

His legs are moving. He’s slipping through the station like a dreamscape, an illusion.

His legs are moving, but he isn’t moving them, and it doesn’t seem to matter if he does. He’ll keep advancing, keep cutting through the crowds, and so long as it looks like his feet are touching the ground it doesn’t matter if they do. And somewhere far away, deep in his ever-roving mind’s eye, Ren rests a hand on his cheek and gazes at him, adoration pooling in stormy gray eyes.

He ghosts a thumb over Ren’s lips and wonders through the fabric of his gloves, of time and of space. If they’re soft. Or chapped, dry and warm. If they’re bitten with stress through the veneer of calm or unmarked. That is, before Goro gets to them.

Are they curved, quirked at the corners, perhaps at the sight of him? He wonders how Ren kisses; if it’s gently, tentative and wanting, hand never leaving Goro’s face. Rubbing circles over his cheek and stroking the deep, invisible hollows under his eyes. Nudging their noses together as he leans in for more, parting his lips in quiet, disbelieving euphoria at the feel of Goro’s breath against his skin.

Or hungrily, perchance. Ever-sure and bruising, hard and confident as the edged smirks Joker shoots him in the Metaverse. Hands firm against his back and roaming along the shape of him—gripping tight to his arms and carding through his hair—taking what he wants in a manner befitting of a phantom thief and grinning against him in victory and… would he smile?

Eyes half-closed, light shining through those ridiculously long lashes and laughing faintly into Goro’s mouth, enjoying himself? Or would his face go hard, eyes shut tight and clinging to Goro and pressing himself close, stealing the breath from him like he means to spirit it into his own lungs, needs it like he needs his own life—

Goro smacks hard into a pillar and bounces off it with a disgruntled gasp.

He shakes himself, glancing around furtively, before drawing himself up and hurrying on his way.

Daydreaming is a child’s game, entertaining impossibilities a fool’s. The message wasn’t even for him in the first place. It never would be.

His phone chimes again.

It’s not Joker.

Goro reads quickly over the list of names. This one’s for him. This one he’s been waiting for.

There’s no room to forget, in this life he lives. The life he’s given away. No room to forget the fire burning low behind him, casting him on the screen and moving him as the stage demands. He has one purpose and that’s to meet and doom his maker. He’ll move as he needs to, only as he needs to, and the impression of him will die out with the flames.

He’s not long for this world. There’s nothing to lose and certainly nothing to gain. He’s intangible as smoke through mirrors.

No-one notices when he slides into the shadows to relieve them of their minds.

* * *

He finds himself at the café by the day’s end, despite it all.

_How._

Why is he here? The clouds are dimming the later hours of dusk and he remembers stumbling out of Mementos, pulling himself into the restroom to straighten his hair, his tie, to wipe the sweat from his skin and the blood from his wounds and there isn’t much, there never is, but it wouldn’t do to take the risk when his shirt is stark white but the _glow_ , now, the red glow on the front of him is so achingly, infuriatingly familiar as he glances around the shelter of the distressed red-and-white awning he’s already welcomed himself beneath.

He doesn’t remember climbing aboard the train, certainly doesn’t remember which it was. And he doesn’t remember dragging himself along the backstreets of Yongen-Jaya to wind up here, _here_ , his one respite from and his harshest reminder of a world that doesn’t want him. A respite that reminds him with words kind as daggers and eyes soft as shattered glass how much he _wants_ it to.

How funny it is that his life belongs to the world while he belongs nowhere.

_You’ll never be welcome._

He pushes open the door and steps into the hazy warmth of Leblanc.

The bell jingles at his entrance, acknowledging him. Spent as he is he can’t muster the strength to look away from where his eyes turn first and sure enough Ren is there, standing at the counter.

It’s clearly been a long day. His hair is a mess, even more than usual—deep, dark circles rim his eyes, his shirt a crumpled mess with the sleeves pushed to the elbows and his apron sitting askew on his waist.

He’s polishing a cup with a dishrag. Every detail etched in his face screams tense, exhausted, and Goro thinks how relaxing it must be. To allow imperfection. To allow humanity. To allow proof that you were part of the world rather than existing, somehow, over it.

Ren glances up at the sound of the bell to find Goro standing uncertainly on the welcome mat. Goro meets his gaze, tentative and challenging. But as their eyes lock, Ren’s face breaks into an easy smile, and at once it’s like they’re exhaling on a breath they’d been holding together all day. Goro feels himself slump, strings cut. Feels himself in his own body for the first time.

He takes a deep breath. Solace floods him with the warm scent of coffee and curry.

“Welcome back,” Ren says softly, and, eyes never leaving his, Goro slides into his seat at the counter.

**Author's Note:**

> rt [here](https://twitter.com/corviiid/status/1152604688170176512) on twitter :]
> 
> i collaborated with two fabulous artists, [stevie @soupsleuth](https://twitter.com/soupsleuth) and [rayne @riptired666](https://twitter.com/riptired666) aka the hashtag rad squad, who did the cover and [@p5writerszine](https://twitter.com/riptired666/status/1152981116946530304>illustration</a>%20for%20this%20fic%20respectively%20-%20plus%20their%20extras!%0A%0Aplease%20check%20out%20the%20<a%20href=) on twitter to see the other works + info!


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